


Realignment

by Tiffany_Park



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Tongue-in-cheek Intrigue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiffany_Park/pseuds/Tiffany_Park
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do if you lost a Stargate?  Why, you'd call those "can do" guys at the NID, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Realignment

 

TITLE:  Realignment

AUTHOR:  Tiffany Park

EMAIL:  twilite@sprynet.com

STATUS:  Complete

CATEGORY:  Tongue-in-cheek Intrigue, Missing Scene

SPOILERS:  "Solitudes," "Touchstone," "Shades of Grey," "Nemesis," and especially "Watergate."

SEASON:  Set during the brief period between "Nemesis" and the end of "Small Victories," well before "Watergate."

RATING:  PG-13

CONTENT WARNINGS:  Language.

SUMMARY:   What would you do if you lost a Stargate?  Why, you'd call those "can do" guys at the NID, of course.

ARCHIVE:  Please ask.

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions.  This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands.  No copyright infringement is intended.  The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author.  This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Just couldn't buy the story that the U.S. blew off the Alpha Gate as destroyed with _Beliskner_ , but the Russians found it, no problem.  Nope, sounds like a cover story to me, and a pretty lame one, at that.  So I decided to have some fun with it.  This isn't humor, but it's not intended to be taken too seriously, either.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

 

**Realignment** ****

 

**by**

**Tiffany Park**

 

 

Colonel Harold Maybourne hesitated at the office door, labeled with a face plate bearing the inscription, "Lieutenant General Franklin A. Coleman," and wondered, not for the first time, why the hell he had been called in yet again.  Especially on a Friday afternoon.  It was his first free weekend in ages, and here he was, about to be sucked into another of Frank Coleman's extra black schemes.  It seemed like damn near every time he set foot in Coleman's office, his life got both complicated and downright unpleasant.

He wished he could just turn around and pretend he'd never received the summons, but the staff sergeant at the front desk had already informed the general of his arrival.  Pity.

A impatient voice, tinged with a cowboy twang of an accent, called from within, "Come on in, Harry."

Maybourne sighed, resigning himself to his fate, then opened the door and stepped into the lion's den.

The office was large and sparsely decorated.  An enormous, mahogany desk dominated the windowless room.  A U.S. flag stood to one side, and a picture of the President hung on the opposite wall.  Other than that one picture, the institutional beige walls were devoid of decoration.  Frank Coleman had spent so much of his life in one black hole or another that he had long ago been conditioned to never reveal anything he didn't have to, whether classified or not, and even public attainments weren't on display.  Hell, he didn't even have any pictures of his family on the glossy, but bare, desktop.

The general stood from behind the desk as Maybourne entered the room.  He was an impressive man, over six feet tall with iron gray hair and ice blue eyes that could stare into your very soul.  Maybourne snapped to attention and offered a crisp salute.  "General Coleman."

Coleman returned the salute.  "At ease, Colonel Maybourne."   His face took on a bland, pleasant expression that Maybourne had learned through painful experience to distrust on sight.  The general gestured vaguely to the uncomfortable looking chair that was set before his desk.  "Have a seat, Harry."

Maybourne waited until the general sat, then settled himself into what he always privately termed "the hot seat."

"How's life treating you, Harry?" Coleman inquired, somewhat disinterestedly.  "Thing's working out okay at the new location?"

Coleman was starting off with small talk?  Oh, that couldn't be good.  "It's going fine, sir.  Lieutenant Tobias has managed to get down everything she remembered about that zero point energy collector, and the engineers believe they might be able to reproduce something similar in a few years."

The general nodded and muttered, "Good, good," while chewing his lip and staring pensively at Maybourne.

Of course, Coleman already knew all that--after all, he was sent weekly status reports.  Maybourne shifted in his chair and asked the question he dreaded most, "What's up, Frank?"

Coleman looked a little relieved that Maybourne had freed him from the burden of social niceties.  He folded his hands atop his desk and got down to business.  "Harry, this concerns the Alpha Stargate."

Maybourne blinked in surprise.  "I thought the Alpha 'gate was destroyed when _Beliskner_ crashed?"  When Coleman made a wry face, Maybourne sighed in exasperation, "Ah.  A cover story."

"Afraid so, Harry.  We couldn't let this one get out, under the circumstances."

Circumstances?  Oh, hell.  Whenever Lieutenant General Franklin A. Coleman started talking about "circumstances," the shit was already well on its way to the fan.  Well, at least now he knew why Coleman had dragged him back to Washington.  "So what happened to it?" he asked, even though he was fairly certain he didn't want to hear the answer.

In lieu of a direct response, Coleman pushed a manila file, printed with all sorts of bright red warnings, across his desk.  "Take a look at this."

Maybourne gingerly opened the file.  It was full of reports, analyses, and a plethora of reconnaissance photos--many in black and white, others in false color, and almost all of them digitally enhanced.  He set the pictures aside and started in on the top report.  It described everything that had occurred at the site in the Pacific Ocean where the Asgard warship, _Beliskner_ , had gone down, listing in excruciating detail all the surveillance methods used to track and observe it--satellites, spy planes, spy boats, the works--as well as what Naval vessels were dispatched to the region, and the orders they were operating under.

About half-way down the page he blanched and stopped reading.  "You weren't really going to nuke it, were you?"

"That was our backup plan," Coleman admitted, "in the event that recovery wasn't a viable option."

"You're kidding.  A nuke wouldn't destroy the Stargate.  Those things are designed to withstand and channel literally astronomical amounts of energy."

Coleman looked annoyed.  "I know that.  So does the President, and he's the one who'd have to authorize the detonation."

"Then why?"

"To keep the site off limits.  That much hard radiation would have ensured that no one could get near the Alpha 'gate for the foreseeable future."

"That's something of an understatement, sir," Maybourne said sarcastically.  "How on Earth were the diplomatic boys going to explain an underwater nuclear detonation in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?"

Coleman shrugged.  "We were going to blame it on illegal tests conducted by one of the other nuclear powers.  China, or maybe Pakistan."  He added with a sneer, "Hell, we could have said it was one of those nukes the Russians let go a few years back during their big fire sale.  Would have served them right."

That was an odd comment.  Maybourne eyed his superior suspiciously, then went back to the report.  He flipped the page and almost fainted.  "Oh, my God."

Coleman peered over the desk to see where Maybourne was reading.  "Ah, I see you've gotten to the good part," he said maliciously.  "You might want to check out some of the pics now, Harry."  He pulled several pages from the pile of surveillance photos and shoved them under Maybourne's nose.  The images showed the Stargate being hauled onto a salvage ship, surrounded by an impressive assortment of Russian naval vessels, including several _Udaloy_ class destroyers, all displayed in the highest resolution that bleeding edge optical, infrared, and radar imaging technology could provide.  "You better appreciate those shots.  We had to conduct five high altitude flyovers, not to mention the satellite time we shanghaied."

Maybourne stared at the photographs, then shifted his disbelieving gaze back to the general.  "The _Russians_ have it?  How the hell did they get that kind of heavy equipment to the area before we did?  Especially with the state their military and economy are in?"

"They got lucky."  Coleman sounded disgusted.  "The damn thing practically fell into their laps.  The Russians were already tracking _Beliskner_ , anyway, and had their navy out in force.  Hell, half the radar installations on the planet watched that thing crash.  Anyhow, plain and simple, they just beat us to it.  That's why we put out that story about it being destroyed, to keep the more incendiary elements in our own government from going ballistic over this.  There's only nine people in the country right now that know the full extent of this debacle, and you're one of them, Harry."

"Dear God in Heaven."  Maybourne leaned back into his chair and briefly closed his eyes, not wanting to know why he'd been added to that select group.

"Oh, don't relax yet.  You haven't heard it all."

"It gets worse?"  Maybourne forced himself to sit up.

"I suggest you read ahead to page three."

Maybourne obediently turned the page and studied the report.  After a long moment, he closed his eyes again, feeling decidedly ill.  "A DHD, as well?" he murmured in despair.

"It seems the Alpha 'gate had one all along," Coleman explained.  "According to our sources, the Nazis picked it up on one of their little raids during World War II, but at the time, everyone just assumed it was some odd piece of exotic Egyptiana.  After World War II, it landed in the Russians' hands, probably when they were doing a bit of treasure procurement themselves."

"With a DHD, they'll be able to get the Stargate working..." Maybourne's voice trailed off as he considered the implications.

"Pretty damn quick," Coleman finished for him.

"Pretty damn quick," Maybourne agreed.  The sick feeling grew to full blown nausea.  "All they have to do is notice that the symbols are the same, and start pushing buttons."

"That about covers it."

"Still, they don't know what it is, right?" Maybourne argued, trying to convince himself, as well as Coleman, that the situation wasn't as bad as it seemed.  "And they don't have any valid addresses, or even any idea of what constitutes a valid address, so it'll all be random guesswork.  They'd have to be extraordinarily lucky to hit on anything."

"Perhaps, but what if they do?  Imagine what might happen if they hit on a Goa'uld world.  Besides, the Alpha 'gate is the default Stargate for Earth.  You know that--that's why you had to time your off-world jaunts so carefully.  Suppose the Goa'uld try another invasion before the Russians figure out what they've got and take the appropriate precautions?  The President isn't willing to take those kinds of chances.  I happen to agree with him."

"I gather that mutual cooperation is not an option?"

"It is not.  At least, not officially."  Coleman's voice was adamant, and it was clear that he wasn't going to explain.

Maybourne shrugged, putting it down to the usual paranoia and enmity that the two nations had felt for one another for over half a century, not to mention an unwillingness to relinquish any advantage, namely, the off-world tech so painfully acquired over the last three years.  Besides, the chance that the Russians would voluntarily accept any kind of official assistance from the U.S. for anything that wouldn't generate positive PR was so vanishingly small as to be nonexistent.  "So why tell me all this?  There's nothing I can do about it."

"On the contrary, there's a great deal you can do.  You can do damage control, Harry."

"How?"  Maybourne felt that nauseous sensation flare up again, right in the pit of his stomach.

"You're going to defect."  Coleman's tone was so matter-of-fact that for a few seconds Maybourne could only gape at the man.

"I'm what?" he asked incredulously.  "You can't be serious."

"I'm dead serious, Harry."

Dead.  That was a good way to put it.  "Defect?" Maybourne repeated dumbly.  "To Russia?"

"That's right.  Give it a minute or two, and it won't seem like such an awful idea."

"Oh, that's not very likely.  Why would any sane American want to defect to Russia in this day and age?"

Coleman smiled again, that smile that usually warned Maybourne he really wasn't going to like what came next.  "Why, to avoid a firing squad, or life doing hard time in Leavenworth, of course," the general said smugly.  "Even the most suspicious Russian official would understand that."

"Sir?"

"You're gonna high-tail it out of the country to avoid a court martial.  I've already started the preliminaries.  Of course, once we discover you've flown the coop, and in such an embarrassing way, we'll cover up the whole thing.  Naturally, there'll be just enough of a trail left that some determined analyst somewhere will be able to put two and two together."

"And get five," Maybourne protested.  "What the hell am I supposed to have done?"

"There's no _supposed to_ about it.  You actually did it."  Coleman's smile became very broad.  "That's the beauty of it.  Remember why you had to run that little rescue op a few months ago?"

Maybourne's heart plummeted like a rock dropped off the top of the Empire State Building.  Yeah, he remembered that very, very well.  One of their off-world acquisitions teams had shown a little less circumspection than was required for the successful execution of their job.  As a result, several powerful alien races had complained, and the Asgard had actually threatened to "deal with the problem."  That had sent a tidal wave crashing all the way to the White House, and the NID had been told in no uncertain terms to clean up their mess before the situation escalated completely out of control, and to keep the involvement of certain high level individuals quiet.

The operation had taken some fancy maneuvering, and the unwitting cooperation of key members of the SGC, but in the end Maybourne had managed to get the entire team home through the Stargate, and they were now safely tucked away at a top secret base in the Aleutian Islands, getting their brains picked by the technical experts.  And, because the President's good face--the SGC--had been actively involved and seemingly resolved the situation in a satisfactory manner, the races that had complained were completely pacified.  A win-win situation, all around.

All the NID had lost was a little technology and one mole at the SGC.  Since there were still four other off-world teams active, and several other moles, neither Maybourne nor Coleman had been unduly concerned with the losses.

In fact the whole operation had gone off so smoothly that Maybourne had always wondered if he owed some weird, karmic debt on it.  Today was obviously the day that debt came due.  Sometimes working for Frank Coleman really sucked.

"I believe that Hammond wanted to charge everyone with high crimes against the state, right?" Coleman said.  "Well, you were the ringleader.  The whole thing is made to order."  He laughed out loud.  "It's even related to the Stargate program.  We couldn't ask for more."

Maybe Coleman couldn't, but Maybourne could.  He buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"Oh, relax, Harry.  It's not like we're really gonna stick you up in front of a firing squad.  Hell, the court martial's never gonna happen, either.  You'll be long gone before anyone knows the difference, the Russians will provide you with a nice, safe sanctuary, and in return, you'll get them up to speed on the Stargate."

"I can't believe you want me to teach the Russians about the Stargate," Maybourne muttered into the palms of his hands.  He lifted his head and stared hard at Coleman.  "This thing is really official?"

"You know where my authorization comes from."

Maybourne knew, all right.  "November can't come too soon," he grumbled.

Coleman pretended not to hear.  He extracted another file from a desk drawer, pulled out a photograph, and handed it to Maybourne, saying, "Here.  This is Dr. Svetlana Markov.  She's the scientist who's trying to convince the Russian government to set up a project to study the 'gate.  It'll cost them a bundle of rubles that they don't have, and there's some heavy opposition to the idea, but our sources in Moscow still say it's pretty much a done deal."

Maybourne studied the picture.  It was a black and white surveillance photo of a woman, probably in her mid to late thirties, with exotic features and enormous, melting dark eyes.  He thought she'd be absolutely stunning if only her hairstyle wasn't so severe.  Given her profession, she probably had to keep it that way just to get the barest respect from her peers and colleagues.  Women who were too pretty tended not to be taken seriously, even in the U.S., and Maybourne knew that in Russia it was a hell of a lot worse.

Coleman was continuing, "She's brilliant.  Even without your help, she'll probably have the Stargate up and running inside of a year, so we need you to, you know, kind of guide her along, make sure she sticks to reasonably safe worlds.  She's damn sharp about people, too, so you'll have to stay on your toes if you don't wanna get made."

Like he was going to get careless in the middle of Russia?  The theme song from _Mission: Impossible_ started running through Maybourne's thoughts.  He shook his head, but failed to clear it of the annoying melody.  He could hear the voice from the miniature tape recorder saying, "Your mission, should you choose to accept it..."  Except he knew there was no declining this little suicide run.  Coleman had made certain of that, goddamn him.

"Now, you'll need to establish some credibility with them," Coleman was saying, "so we've put together a nice file of reports for you, detailing some of the misadventures of our buddies in the SGC."

Another file was shoved into Maybourne's hands.  He quickly paged through it, skimming the contents, and immediately noticed the way the reports were biased towards the downside of interstellar exploration.  He looked up at Coleman.  "You've slanted this pretty good."

"Damn right we have.  A huge part of this exercise is to keep the Russians cautious, and the SGC has had an awful lot of trouble."

"Won't they wonder why we keep running such a potentially disastrous program?"

"Keeping it all plausible will be your problem," Coleman told him.  "However, there are a few successes in those reports--nothing spectacular, but good enough to demonstrate why we don't shut down our own program.  We've also doctored some of those files a little, to protect our own interests."  By that, Maybourne figured Coleman meant the technologies and resources brought back through the Stargate.  Certainly, none of The Powers That Be would be willing to share anything they didn't have to.

Coleman leaned forward and said intently, "Harry, we really need you to put the fear of God into 'em about lovely folks like the Goa'uld and the Reetou, although that'll be something of a tightrope to walk.  You don't wanna impugn their courage or anything--that'll send those crazy Russkies straight to Chulak or someplace even worse, and they'll probably start a war that'll be the end of us all, just to salvage their precious national pride."

Maybourne once again found himself speechless.  "I doubt they'd go that far," he finally murmured.

"It's your job to make sure they don't.  Also, do your best to keep 'em away from the advanced races that we've got alliances with, like the Tollan and the Asgard.  God, can you imagine what might happen if the Russians run into the Tok'ra?"

"They'd get sneered at?" Maybourne suggested.  He didn't think much of any of the aforementioned races, although he admitted that they did have their uses.  If nothing else, they scared the crap out of the Goa'uld.  He amended that thought--the Asgard scared the crap out of the Goa'uld.  The Tok'ra were just an irritant, and the Tollan were too isolationist to be much of a concern to their snake-bastard enemies.

"They'll screw up our treaties, such as they are," Coleman said reprovingly.  Maybourne shrugged and tossed the folder back onto the desk.

You weren't too concerned about that a few months back, Maybourne thought sourly, but had the sense to keep that opinion to himself.

Coleman held up a short stack of classical music CDs.  "Those reports have been encrypted and encoded onto these discs, so you'll be able to get them through customs without any grief.  They even play music, so you can listen to 'em on the plane," he said with a smile.  He set the CDs down, then pushed another photo across his desk.  "This is Vladimir Koblenko.  We've had an agent set up a meeting between you and him in Prague.  He's your ticket into Russia and Markov's good graces."

Maybourne picked up the photograph and studied it carefully.  It pictured a middle-aged man with piercing dark eyes and a face like a hawk.  "He works for us?"

"No."

"No?" Maybourne stared at Coleman in alarm.

"Koblenko works for the Federal Security Service."

Maybourne collapsed back into his seat and tried not to hyperventilate at that unwelcome news.  He started to babble, "Good God, Frank!  That's what the KGB morphed into, and they haven't changed their methods a whole lot since the bad old days.  With all due respect, sir, you are out of your mind.  Does it have to be him?  I can't--"

"Yes, it has to be him, and yes, you have to," Coleman insisted, leaning forward and fixing Maybourne with an intent gaze.  "Koblenko is Markov's brother-in-law.  It's perfect."

"Frank, I really can't do this.  You've got the wrong person," Maybourne protested vociferously.  "I'm not an agent.  I don't have the training to pull something like this off."

"You'll do fine," Coleman dismissed his protestations.  "You're an old hand when it comes to deception."

Maybourne threw him a dirty look.  "Thanks.  I think.  But--"

"No buts.  It's got to be you.  You're the only person available with the background, the technical expertise, the access to the data, and the motive.  The Russians wouldn't believe anyone else.  Besides, you speak the lingo."

"Sir, is all this really necessary?" Maybourne tried again, unable to deny anything that the general had said, although before Coleman had meddled, he hadn't had any motive at all.  "I mean, what if they just blow the whistle on the whole thing, and tell the world what's been going on and what we've been up to?"

"The analysts say they won't.  Nobody would believe such an outlandish claim unless the Russians produce and demo the goods.  Somehow, I don't think they'll be any happier about doing that than we would."

"No, they wouldn't," Maybourne muttered in defeat.

"Buck up, Harry," Coleman said.  "It's not like we're hanging you out to dry."

It sure seemed like it.  "Will General Hammond be told about this?"

"Not just yet.  It's need to know only.  The President wants to keep the whole thing under wraps.  The SGC can continue to operate without knowing about this particular complication, for now at least."

"What if the 'gate operations conflict?  That's sure to tip Hammond off."

"We'll keep you updated on the SGC's schedule.  You can explain to Markov that you've still got contacts on the inside.  It's the truth, after all."

"My ex and kids?"  He had some leave time coming up, and since Maybourne was on good terms with his ex-wife, she and the kids were expecting him for a visit.  Looked like that probably wasn't going to happen.  One more thing to hold against Coleman.

"They won't know anything about this," Coleman told him kindly.  "Karen got used to you being incommunicado for long periods of time while you were married, and if she asks, we'll just tell her it's classified.  She'll understand.  This really is only temporary, Harry, until the boys upstairs can put together some kind of policy.  You just have to buy us a little time and keep a lid on things over there until we can get some details worked out."

"And keep you up to date on anything of interest that the Russians might discover?" Maybourne asked cynically, wondering why Coleman hadn't mentioned it already.

"Come on, Harry, you're sharper than that.  Of course you'll be expected to report anything of interest the Russians discover.  That goes without saying, or it ought to," Coleman told him reprovingly.  "However, your primary objectives are to keep the Russians out of trouble and out of our hair.  Hell, it'd be great if you could con them into shutting the whole thing down, but I'm not expecting miracles."

No?  Sure sounded like it.  Maybourne wondered how the hell was he supposed to keep the Russians out of trouble.  It seemed like half the planets out there were nothing but trouble, even the ones without a Goa'uld presence.  And smuggling secrets out of Russia was likely to get him killed.  Shut down their program?  He'd be lucky if the Russians didn't shoot him for espionage or imprison him in Siberia for the rest of his life.

Maybourne wearily considered his probable future.  He knew that "temporary," in this kind of situation, could mean months, or even years.  He hoped not, but it was better to be prepared for the worst.  He blew out a dispirited sigh and gazed at the flag, reminding himself of all the reasons he'd gotten involved with Coleman in the first place.  This, like everything else he did, was for the good of his nation.  "When do I leave?"

"Tonight."

"What?"

"Tonight," Coleman repeated.  "We've got you booked on a red-eye special."  Noting Maybourne's shocked expression, he added, "It's gotta look real, Harry--you can't look too prepared.  You're supposed to be running scared, after all.  We'll be setting the dogs on you as soon as someone reports you missing.  If you leave tonight, no one will notice you're gone until you don't report in on Monday, and the Security guys won't have a chance in hell of catching you.  Here are your instructions, and your tickets and passport.  Don't worry about a thing, both the ID and the meeting are solid."  Coleman shoved a sealed, manila envelope into Maybourne's numb hands and waved vaguely over his shoulder.  "Your baggage is by the door."

Maybourne turned his head.  Sure enough, a suitcase and an overnight bag were sitting next to the office door.  Somehow, he managed to miss those two items when he came in.  "Thought of everything, haven't you, Frank?"

"Everything," Coleman stated flatly.  "We've got the best of the best working for us, and support from the highest levels."  He looked almost regretful for the first time during the meeting.  "Look, Harry, I agree this stinks, but we both know it's necessary, like everything else we do around here."

"God, Frank, this whole thing is so very Cold War," Maybourne complained.

"Ain't it, though?  Things really haven't changed as much as the Pollyannas in the press would have everyone believe, have they?  The subs are all still out there running their fire drills, a fair number of the missiles are still aimed, the KGB's got a new name but still pretty much does what it always did...  Well, at least crap like the arms build up and MAD are over and done with, and the Russians aren't as acquisitive these days.  That's something."

Maybourne shrugged.  While he was glad the worst of the Cold War bullshit was mostly over and done with, he rather wished that they had a version of MAD--Mutually Assured Destruction--going on with the Goa'uld.  It was a hell of a lot better than being the underdog, and it might keep the snakes at bay if they thought there was a chance that Earth could do them some real damage.  They seemed to prefer overwhelming odds in their favor.  Maybe the Russians would go weapons hunting, although the thought of antimatter bombs and zat guns in their hands was truly frightening, given the turbulent state their nation was in these days.  After all, they couldn't even hang on to their own nukes.  He sighed dispiritedly.

Coleman said, "Look on the bright side, Harry, at least it's not China.  They had a fleet out, too, ya know.  Now, that would truly suck."

"Yes, sir."  If it was China, Maybourne thought wistfully, Coleman would definitely have had to find someone else, since he didn't speak any variant of Chinese.  He was almost sorry that it wasn't China for just that reason, but really, Russia was better for U.S. interests.  It wasn't nearly as antagonistic these days.  What an odd thought.

Maybourne slowly got to his feet, feeling each and every one of his forty-five years as he stood, and took a moment to glare at General Frank Coleman, wishing to God he'd had the sense to retire after that last op.  Maybourne truly believed that what they did was necessary, and obviously, so did a lot of other people, or they'd never have been sanctioned in the first place.  Nonetheless, there were days when he fervently wished that he'd never heard of the NID.  He again gazed at the flag, drawing strength from the colors.  He could do this.  He had to do this.  "I'll do my best, sir."

"I know you will, Harry.  You'll have a few hours to review all the files and photos--they cover everything you'll need to know about," Coleman said, standing up, signaling that the meeting was drawing to a close.  "You can use Neillson's office next door.  When you're done, seal the files up and drop them off with my secretary.  I'm afraid you'll have to call a cab to get to the airport.  It would look too suspicious to send you off in a staff car."

Maybourne nodded with resignation.

Coleman added, "Oh, and don't forget to change into civvies before you leave."

Asshole.  Maybourne reluctantly put the CDs into the overnight bag, which, he noted with grim amusement, included among its contents a portable CD player--Frank really wasn't leaving anything about his cover to chance--then slung its long strap over one shoulder, lifted the suitcase, and said, "Guess I'll be seeing you, Frank."

"Have a nice flight, Harry.  I hear Prague is beautiful this time of year."

Maybourne grimaced and barely stopped himself from flipping Coleman the bird.  He saluted sharply, opened the office door and stepped out of the room.

As the door closed behind him, Coleman's over-cheerful voice rang out, "And have a drink or two on the flight.  You really need to relax."

 

 

***** end *****

 

_October, 2000_

 


End file.
